


Irresistible

by TheUniverseIsRarelySoLazy



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blood Drinking, Is this romantic?, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Vampire!Mycroft, maybe not?, maybe? - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:08:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28038951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheUniverseIsRarelySoLazy/pseuds/TheUniverseIsRarelySoLazy
Summary: A short exploration of a vampire story, featuring Mycroft as the scary one.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Comments: 9
Kudos: 76





	Irresistible

**Author's Note:**

> It may be a bit scary at times but no one actually comes to any lasting harm. I would’ve tagged the warning for that.

It was a situation Greg had never thought he’d ever find himself in. He had hoped. Wished. Feared? Maybe feared, since his heart was beating so fast in the silence. That heavy silence ripe with unsaid words. With truths, begging to burst out of him. He has a feeling the silence has been created on purpose to give him the courage to talk and fill it.

The room is comfortably heated, maybe even a bit too hot. He’s sitting on a large, plush sofa, had been leaning against the pillows, but is now bent forward, elbows on his knees. The hand holding his glass is ever so slightly shivering and he can see the amber liquid reflect the warm light of the fire like the ocean surface in the sun. He can smell the flames, but more even so an underlying woody quality, a richness to the air here that makes everything feel old and important.

“Mycroft…”

His voice breaks slightly, but Mycroft doesn’t seem to mind. The other man takes a sip of his own drink. A cask strength whisky, Greg remembers, realising his anxious mind is trying to calm him with these distracting thoughts. As if Mycroft isn’t distracting enough.

“Yes?” Mycroft replies and his voice is low and slightly rough from the alcohol. It has that certain quality which goes directly into Greg’s core, both warms and chills him from the inside out.

“The… dinners… the… what we’ve been doing over the last weeks… I can’t help but wonder… hope… you had an ulterior motive,” Greg manages, implying what he wants to say, not yet daring to say it out loud without a confirmation from the other side—as if the lingering glances, soft chuckles and hands placed in the small of Greg’s back hadn’t been confirmation enough.

“Of course I had an ulterior motive, Gregory,” Mycroft replies smoothly and places his glass on the low table. His fingers brush against Greg’s as he takes his glass also and places it next to his. Greg’s heart impossibly speeds up. He hasn’t been that nervous since he’s been a teenager in love and this feels so similar it takes his breath away.

“Well, maybe it’s not entirely the ulterior motive you were hoping for, but I fully intend to take you to bed tonight, if you’re willing.”

Greg gasps. He looks up to find Mycroft staring at him. His eyes, forever a storm of blue, fixed on him. Greg swallows. He forces the words out past his nerves.

“I’m… very willing,” he says and even though it emerges as a whisper, Mycroft grins. “But…”

“Oh, so you realised?”

Greg bites his tongue.

“How long have you been…”

“Not very long, compared to my brother. 1895.”

“I thought you—”

“We have to play it that way. He looks younger than me, does he not? Despite being at least 1500 years old. He won’t tell me the exact number. It’s vexing.”

Greg shakes his head. That’s not what he came here for. He looks into Mycroft’s eyes again, who appears to still be waiting for something. Ah, yes. You have to say it out loud first. They’re not allowed to say it otherwise.

“People say you’re doomed if you fall in love with a vampire. They use love to ensnare and then kill their victims over… over…”

“Over a long night of sex and blood? Well, yes. There are some who do this.”

“And you don’t?”

“Why, Gregory… does that mean you’re in love with me?”

Despite everything, Greg blushes. Mycroft surprises him by shifting in his seat, swinging one leg over and positioning himself in Greg’s lap. He grabs both of Greg’s hands and holds them down on the back of the sofa next to his head. Greg’s body goes from moderately heated to burning in an instant. It’s not just the position. It’s that it’s Mycroft Holmes on his lap. Mycroft Holmes! Yet most of all it’s his smile, which seems amused, superior and a bit cruel. It makes everything in Greg’s body want to submit.

“Yes…” he breathes. “Are you going to kill me?”

“The thought had crossed my mind. It’s how this usually goes, after all.”

“So?”

“I still haven’t ruled it out.”

This is the moment he should run, Greg knows it. Mycroft doesn’t hold him as though he plans to stop him—yet. Instead Greg asks another question.

“What if I just leave? What happens to people unhappily in love with a vampire?”

“They drive themselves crazy. Waste away. The pull is too strong. They will do anything to end in the embrace of death.”

“How cruel.”

“Ah, but is it any different than the flower attracting insects with an enticing scent? They even give them sweet nectar before they are forever caught. You’ve been enticed, Gregory. Don’t you want to partake?”

A shudder goes through Greg’s body. Oh god, he wants to. He wants to partake so much. Does he even have a choice? Either give in now and willingly hand himself over into the hands of this magnificent creature, who can end his life whenever he wants to… or live the rest of his life in agony for having fallen for him.

“Come on, Gregory,” Mycroft says sweetly. He leans in so close that their noses are touching. Greg can smell his expensive cologne and it clouds his senses. “I can give you a night of ecstasy, like you have never experienced. Let me bite you out of your free will and I promise you that the chemicals will make you fly once they’re in your blood.”

“You sound like a bad drug dealer.”

Mycroft stops for a moment. Then he lets Greg’s hands go for his arms go around his stomach as he laughs. He laughs and laughs, full bodied, shaking. There are tears in his eyes.

“You are… unique.”

Greg can’t smile. His mind has already made itself up. He is walking willingly into the ocean, waiting for it to swallow him whole.

“Then do it. Have me. I won’t last another day without you. If I have to leave here tonight I might… I…”

Mycroft puts a finger on his lips.

“Don’t continue. It’s alright. Thank you. I promise to make it as… painless as possible.”

“No. I want it to hurt.”

“Good choice.”

Mycroft leans forward and Greg instinctively draws back, but then he just grabs Greg’s arm again. Long fingers open the buttons at his wrist and then he rolls up the sleeve, meticulously folding it. Greg is transfixed by every motion. Then he realises it. Mycroft is growing hard against him. Slowly and steadily, pressing against Greg’s cock. Greg is too nervous for his body to react in kind, but he is still overwhelmed by the feeling.

“Looking forward?”

Mycroft grins. “You don’t even know. I’m starving and you smell so sweet to me. Like oranges and flowers. Everything I adore.”

He opens his mouth and lowers it to Greg’s wrist. Greg flinches at the contact, yet then it’s just Mycroft’s tongue slowly running across the skin on the inside of his wrist. Again and again. Greg closes his eyes and loses himself in the feeling. Mycroft is moaning softly and he licks and nibbles at Greg’s skin. His hips undulate slightly, rubbing himself against Greg in gentle waves. The sounds he makes grow louder and more desperate and suddenly there’s a sharp pain. Greg’s eyes fly open.

Mycroft’s teeth are on his arm, scratching the surface of his skin, never breaking. He sounds desperate. Needy. Gone. His eyes are closed as he marks the skin with angry red lines, soothes them with his tongue before drawing the next. Greg’s body glows with fire. This is what he’d imagined Mycroft to look and sound like, but it’s so much better…

“Gregory?”

Greg clears his throat, his left, free hand unclenching from the pillow he had grasped.

“I’ve done this many times. I’ve never given anyone another chance to change their mind. I’m giving you one now. Go. I will release you. You will forget me and Sherlock, and we will never appear in front of you again.”

Greg’s mind reels. He should go. He really should. This is the leopard opening his jaws, holding the gazelle down with just one paw, giving it a chance to live. No one in their right mind would stay.

“You said you haven’t ruled it out. So there’s a chance you might not—”

“Gregory. A word of advice from someone who has been luring in almost a thousand men over the last 100 odd years: Never believe the honeyed words of a vampire who wants you to hand yourself over. Blood given willingly is the sweetest substance my kind will ever know.”

Greg’s eyes fill with tears. Thousands of men. It’s scary. And sad.

“So this is it, then? Either I can have you and that’s it for me, or I go and will never touch you again.”

“You won’t remember. It won’t be bad if you can’t remember.”

“But you can.”

Mycroft’s eyes widen. He drops Greg’s arm. A moment later he composes himself.

“That’s just how memories work, Gregory.”

“So you’re going to watch me from afar for the rest of my life? Never interfering again.”

“You have my word.”

“Even though you love me like you’ve never loved a man before?”

At that Mycroft jumps up as if he’s been burned. With the weight, the fear leaves Greg’s body and only sadness remains.

“Leave!” Mycroft shouts. “Leave immediately! When you walk out of this house you won’t remember a thing. Please.”

Greg stands up. He presses both hands to his eyes in a moment of reflection. When he opens them, Mycroft is gone. He feels… empty. He looks down at his wrist, where the evidence of him is still present. Without thinking he applies his own tongue to the scratches. They burn when he licks them. His eyes fill with tears.

With shaking fingers he reaches for the buttons of his shirt, opening them one by one until he can drop it on the floor. The rest of his clothes follow until he’s just in his pants, naked toes digging into the heavy carpet.

“What are you doing?”

The voice emerges from somewhere in the shadows. So Mycroft is still in the room, even though Greg can’t see him.

“Preparing your meal.”

“Gregory…”

“What?”

“I told you to—”

“I don’t care! I won’t leave!”

It’s like the shadows have come alive. They rush towards him from all corners of the room at once. Greg topples and finds himself lying on the sofa, Mycroft looming over him. He is angry. He is also crying, heavy tears falling down on Greg’s face.

“I might not be able to stop myself. I fear I may… My head would be too clouded to stop myself.”

“Please, just… I love you.”

Mycroft sobs. He lowers his head and Greg feels the sharp pain of two teeth inserted in his shoulder. It burns! The pain shoots through him like a knife. He tries to get away, but Mycroft’s grip is like iron. He holds Greg’s arms down, pins his body with his own. There are slurping noises, desperate sounds of crying and moaning. Mycroft’s whole body is shaking. Then they connect again, Mycroft rubbing against his pants. He’s hard again, desperately so. His movements are uncoordinated, like he’s already chasing his release. And then he’s coming. Greg can feel it everywhere, most of all his shoulder where Mycroft is biting down hard. He shouts through it, louder than Mycroft, whose face is emerging again.

His eyes are unfocused, blown wide. His mouth hangs open, teeth, tongue, lips, all dripping with blood. He’s panting, hair standing in all directions. He’s like a wild animal. Greg has never found him more beautiful. He wants to say the word, but his tongue is too heavy so he just manages a mumble. He can’t even lift his arms anymore.

“That’ll be the chemicals. Like a spider paralyzing the insect,” Mycroft says. His voice is breathy, he licks his lips. “You taste so sweet. So perfect. I want to drink you dry. Slowly. Like a good drink, meant to be savoured.”

Greg mewls ineffectively. It’s over, isn’t it? The only thing he can do is just try to enjoy himself until the end. Then Mycroft gets up from the sofa and Greg can at least appreciate the view. Mycroft’s shirt is stained red, he’s flexing his fingers. His trousers are wet at the front. That was me, Greg thinks. He came in his pants because of me. Because of my taste. Is it weird to be proud of the taste of one's blood?

“Come on, then. I’m not having you here. A good meal should be had in an appropriate setting.”

Greg would laugh if the meal wasn’t him, but even then he feels… relaxed now. Maybe the chemicals are dulling his brain as well as his body. It’s for the better now. Mycroft bows low and stares into Greg’s eyes.

“Your blood is like fire in me. I’ve never felt so alive after just a sip. You are a marvel…”

Their lips meet. Greg squirms, trying to kiss him back, but he can just take it, letting Mycroft explore his mouth, nibble at his lips, feeling him glide his tongue along his teeth. It’s strange. Intimate.

Then Mycroft picks him up like he weighs nothing. The shirt feels good against his naked skin. Mycroft carries him like a princess though the townhouse, up the stairs. Deeper into the lair. Greg swallows as they reach the bedroom. Mycroft positions him squarely in the middle and takes some time to position his limbs. Greg feels like he’s being posed for a photograph.

“Stunning. I don’t think you appreciate just how delicious you look. How you aren’t fighting off suitors left and right will always be a mystery to me.”

Greg wants to laugh. Right. Him. But then the thought leaves his head as Mycroft grabs it and turns it to the side so Greg can see him next to the bed. He reaches for the buttons of his shirt and slowly opens them one by one, exposing more creamy skin by the second. Greg’s mouth actually waters. He can feel the saliva running down his face. Mycroft laughs and throws his shirt on the ground. He kneels next to Greg on the bed, takes his head and licks his face clean. Greg moans, deep inside his chest. Fuck. Fuck. How can this be so…

“Delicious. Now. Let me have some more nutrition and then you may fuck me.”

Greg’s eyes widen.

“Don’t worry, I’ll still have you later, but I can’t miss this opportunity to have a cock inside me.”

Mycroft slips out of his trousers and pants in one swift move, gives his own member a sure stroke and groans in pleasure. He’s hard again. Amazing. He crawls over and sits on Greg’s chest. His cock is right in front of Greg’s face.

“Want a taste? I’m sure you want one…”

Greg makes a helpless, greedy noise. He wants nothing more. His mouth falls open in invitation.

“Good boy.”

Mycroft takes his cock in one hand and draws the head over Greg’s lips. He can feel the smooth skin against him, smell him. It’s wonderful. But he wants to—

“Don’t rush it.”

Greg gets rewarded for his eagerness with the head connecting with the tip of his tongue. It’s sticky. Sweet. Perfect. He wishes he could suck it. Suck up all the fluids. Yet all he can do is enjoy Mycroft slowly pushing in and pulling out his clock, dragging across his tongue in a motion that’s meant to torture both of them. Mycroft is making the sweetest noises, small aborted gasps when he pushes in.

I love you. Greg can’t help thinking it. I love you.

“Enough of that now,” Mycroft says and reaches back to where Greg’s cock has grown hard in his pants. “Let me get this nice and ready.”

He picks up Greg’s wrist and bites down. Hard. At the same time he pushes his cock in further than ever before. Greg can’t breathe. He’s in pain. His wrist is burning. His muscles are fighting and despite everything he manages to twitch his body. Mycroft moans around his arm. Oh god. He’s enjoying the struggle. His cock grows ever harder inside Greg’s throat. Greg’s vision grows blurry. His body is losing ever more strength.

What a way to go.

Yet then he comes to again. Mycroft has moved away from the bed. Greg’s throat hurts. His voice would be gone if he could talk. But does it matter? He will never speak again. Mycroft has removed Greg’s pants in the meantime. He’s slicking up Greg’s cock like a toy. Suppose that’s what I am, he thinks. Toy and food in one.

“Oh, yes… that will do nicely.”

Greg can’t help but preen a bit. Mycroft sits on his lap and reaches for a pillow, puts it behind Greg’s head so he may see better. And what a view it is… Mycroft lowers himself on Greg’s clock without pause, his face screwed up in pleasure, his muscles all rippling with tension and excitement. His eyes are wild as he fully sits down, wiggles a bit. Fuck. It feels so good. Hot. Tight. Mycroft. 

He leans down and puts his forehead against Greg’s. Then he starts moving. It’s all a blur. Greg forces himself to keep his eyes open to see Mycroft’s face. He’s panting, chasing the pleasure. His skin is flushed. He’s so beautiful. Greg is so aroused, so hard it’s painful. The glide is perfect, just on this side of rough. He groans as loud as he can.

“Close? I can imagine. Hold on a bit longer, alright? I’d hate for it to be over so soon.”

Mycroft leans back and starts moving in earnest. His body is long and lithe and Greg feels like he’s staring at a piece of modern art. He can’t hold it. Mycroft’s just too… 

“Fuck,” Mycroft cries out as Greg comes inside him, pulsing in the heat. “Yes!”

Greg’s eyes overflow with tears. He’s panting, his heart is racing. Not being able to move is heightening all his other senses. He feels overstimulated so much it’s painful. Mycroft has pity on him, pulling him out. Greg can see himself drip out of Mycroft’s body. What an incredible sight.

Mycroft grins as he sits back, let’s a hand glide over Greg’s cum covered cock, pops a finger into his mouth and hums appreciatively as if he’s had the best meal in the world.

“Give me a second to clean up. Then I’ll have you properly. Both ways.”

Mycroft actually leans down and draws Greg’s soft cock into his mouth. He sucks on it, moaning quietly as he does it. It’s odd, but warm. Enjoyable. Until a tooth connects with his flesh and Greg’s whole body tenses, breaks out in goosebumps. Mycroft laughs around him, it sounds morbidly amused. He continues to suck, brushing his teeth a few more times against the defenseless, vulnerable body part.

Then he pulls off and Greg breathes a sigh of relief. But only for a moment, until Mycroft buries his teeth in the inside of his thigh. This time it burns for only a very short moment, then there’s only warmth and soft pleasure as he hears Mycroft slurp and lick, feels his tongue and lips on him. From the groans and moans between sips, he can tell that the other is enjoying himself immensely.

Finally Mycroft emerges again. His lower face and throat are red with blood. He moves up and reaches for the lube, slicking himself up. Then he lines himself up.

“This is it, Gregory. I will fuck you and I will drink from you. You will fall asleep slowly, drowned in pleasure. Don’t worry. It won’t hurt.”

Greg stares at him, barely seeing Mycroft through the tears in his eyes.

“I don’t believe I can stop myself. It’s a wonder I haven’t drawn all blood from you yet. I held out hope, but then I tasted you and… I have… I have to have it. You. All of you.”

Mycroft pushes in and Greg’s body lights up. It feels so incredibly right. His cock is growing again in response and within seconds he’s harder than before. Mycroft takes him in hand as he does gentle movements at first. Greg has never felt so good in his entire life.

“That’s the curse of our existence. We’re doomed to kill everyone we love because they’re so irresistible to us we eat them up. Immortality at the price of eternal loneliness. For what it’s worth: I do love you. That’s why I can’t… I can’t stop myself.”

Mycroft’s eyes are filled with tears as he kisses Greg, the taste of blood and cum mingled on his tongue. Then he pushes Greg’s head to the side and digs his teeth in. This time it doesn’t hurt at all. The feeling rushes right between Greg’s legs and he’s moaning despite it all. Mycroft sighs and starts drinking. He sucks at Greg with a force that makes him dizzy. His hips move relentlessly. Greg is reduced to just this now: A warm body used to sate all basic needs. 

When he’s coming, it’s almost like an afterthought to Mycroft’s pleasure. His body feels used up. His cock is hanging uselessly, his limbs paralyzed. His mind is slipping. Everything is wrapped in a fog. He can feel Mycroft on him still. Hears him drinking, sobbing. Then Mycroft is coming, screaming into Greg’s neck. He feels the warmth rushing through him.

Then he’s gone. Everything is black.

———

When he wakes, it’s dark. Greg can barely lift his arms, but at least he can move them. It takes him a moment to sit up, he’s lightheaded and everything hurts. He touches his neck. The skin is bumpy and tender. It feels like the scar he’s gotten in a knife fight. His wrist looks and feels the same, as does his shoulder and thigh. So it hadn’t been a dream. And he is still alive. 

He is still alive.

A moment later the door bursts open. Mycroft is standing there, out of breath like he’s been running.

“Gregory!”

Greg is tackled to the bed by a crying Mycroft, who holds him closer than any person has ever held him. He closes his arm around him and the pleasure he gets from digging the fingers of his right hand into Mycroft’s hair is indescribable.

“I thought… I… You… wouldn’t make it. That I caught myself too late. When you passed out I didn’t realise and…”

“Shh, it’s alright. I’m still here. And I’ll stay.”

“I love you,” Mycroft whispers.

“I love you too,” Greg says and finally kisses him back.


End file.
